“Relax, I’m not planning to hurt you darling…just to give you a night to remember,” the man who calls himself Dragon says as he chains my remaining hand to the edge of the bed. The metallic cuffs feel cold on my skin. I’m trying hard not to think about what could go wrong. Breathe, girl, breathe. I take a deep breath and exhale. Feeling calmer now, I focus on Dragon’s actions with a naked curiosity. He is kneeling on top of me in a way that I am sandwiched between his thighs. His torso is ripped, a mass of solid muscle. He has a bodybuilder’s physique, a thick neck, toned abs, and biceps to die for. He is bald with intense brown eyes, a wide nose, and a bush of lovely beards, which trace the shape of his strong jaws. He is the most physically attractive black guy I have ever come across.
But first, how did our paths cross?
I’m back in Cape Town. I can’t seem to get enough of this city, it has a mystical allure that drew me in from the moment I first stepped here one month ago. I am Amy, thirty-one years old and a pilot. I fly small planes domestically, taking tourists to their various destinations. I consider myself a successful woman but still ambitious. I want to fly a Boeing 747 across borders one day before I retire. My husband Nate recently got a job as a manager for Coca-Cola, Cape Town branch. Despite our busy schedules, we always find time to be together.
Yesterday, I was in the city again after landing a batch of over-eager Dutch tourists at Delta Airstrip. Afterwards I decided to take a tour of my own to explore and familiarize myself with the unexplored parts of the city. I rented a car and drove around, drinking in the sights, enjoying myself. Midway through my adventure, my car broke down. I found it irritating how these rental cars are always breaking down and swore next time I am using a cab no matter how expensive they are.
I was left stranded in the middle of the road. There seemed to be no garage nearby, and this got me worried. I was ruminating about what to do next when I remembered the kind-hearted mechanic who had repaired my car the last time. He called himself Dragon. He had asked for my number, and despite being a married woman, I reluctantly parted with it, knowing that nothing would happen because I’m always in different places. He texted me later, surprising me with the directness of his romantic message, but I ignored his advances. The irony was that now I realized how desperately I needed him. I fished for his text, praying that I hadn’t deleted it. Luckily, it was still there, so I dialed the number, but all three attempts went unanswered.
Running out of options, I decided to stop any motorist and ask for help. I was in the process of flagging down a speeding Subaru when my phone rang. It was Dragon, the mechanic. Thank God he called back, I thought. He remembered my voice instantly, and after explaining my problem, the only question he asked was, where are you?
Forty-five minutes later, he was at the rendezvous, examining the car. He popped the hood and peered inside, looking for the problem. It took him less than three minutes to notice what was wrong with it. The engine had overheated, and some tubes were spilling liquid all over the bonnet.”Damn those bastards, they gave you a malfunctioning jalopy,” he said in a thick, Zulu accent.”Luckily, it did not ignite and burn. They would have charged you a fortune for damaging their car.”
He took his shirt off and was left in a tight vest that hugged his muscled body. Then, he took a toolbox and began to work. I stood there beside him, watching attentively. He was too sexually attractive for a mechanic. I found myself fantasizing about that hot body of his on top of me, his hands caressing me, chocking me as he pumped his manhood into my pulsating coochie. You are a married woman, for fuckssake Claudia, I reminded myself. Banishing my sinful thoughts to the periphery of my mind, I got inside the car and settled to wait. The raised hood kept my temptation at bay.
Approximately thirty minutes later, he was at the passenger’s window. He leaned on it from the outside, but his head and hands were inside the car, covered in oil and grease.” Could you try it now?” he said.
I turned the key in the ignition, and the car sputtered to life. I simultaneously pressed my feet on both the clutch and accelerator. There was a high-pitched hum on the engine. He had fixed the car. Smiling, I turned to look at him. His intense brown eyes were on my lips.
“It is good,” I said, looking away.
He popped the hood back and stood in front of the car. He took his time wiping his hands while stealing glances at me through the windshield. I stared back at him and found myself fantasizing again about his great body and sexual allure. The temptation to fuck him was too strong. But I was loyal to my husband. I had never cheated on Brandon before, and I wasn’t going to. I will only tip him handsomely and be on my way to……
“Well, where are we headed?” his voice startled me. I had been lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize he had finished wiping his hands and was in the car next to me. The vehicle seemed small for his size but he didn’t feel discomfort.
“I was just driving around,” I said. I had no idea where to go next. I remembered I hadn’t paid him.”Oh,how much is your fee?” I asked, extracting my handbag from the dashboard.
He looked at me with that look of his that seemed to drive me to the brink of giving in to temptation. “For you, no charge.”
“What? No…you have helped me. It would be unfair not to…”
“I know, just take it as a kind gesture to a damsel in distress.”
I stared disbelieving at him.”No,” I protested. I only knew too well what this meant. Nothing is free in this world.
I hesitated momentarily and said, “What about the expense you used to get here. I am sure it must have cost you.”
He smiled and placed a hand on my thigh.”Oh..that? Don’t worry, that is on me too.”
I didn’t know what to say. His hand remained on my thigh, and for a moment, I was caught in a whirlwind. Is this deliberate or…
He seemed to notice my uneasiness and withdrew his hand.
“You can take me back, though,” he added, diffusing the tension that was beginning to fill the car.
It seemed to be a noble thing to do given my trouble. We hit the road and headed to the heart of the city.
On the way, we talked about our jobs and other mundane subjects. Both of us were well aware of the sexual undercurrents that wafted within us. I wanted a piece of him, to be devoured by those taut pink lips. He is a drug that I was fighting hard not to consume.
“Stop the car,” he ordered suddenly, without warning.
I was confused by his demand. We were still on the outskirts of the city. What does he….I pressed the brake, and the car jolted to a standstill.
Before I knew it, his lips were on mine. Mildly shocked, I tried to pull away, but I lingered somehow. Only a kiss and nothing else, I told myself. I parted my lips and gave in to his hungry kiss. His mouth was a mechanical piece of art, engineered to give the best French kisses. I found myself beginning to enjoy it and kissed back, nipping at his lower lip with the precision of a seasoned lover.